Pushed to the limits by her abusive boyfriend Carlo (George Eastman), distraught photographic model Françoise (Patrizia Gori) throws herself under a train. On learning of her sister's untimely death, sexy reporter Emanuelle (Rosemarie Lindt) sets out to make Carlo pay for his wicked ways, drugging him, chaining him up in her apartment's handy, secret, soundproofed room (complete with two-way mirror), and performing sexual acts in front of the helpless guy, occasionally enhancing his experience with hallucinogenic drugs.
Written by Bruno Mattei and directed by Joe D'amato, two of Italian exploitation cinema's most infamous sleaze-merchants, 'Emanuelle e Françoise le sorelline' sounds like solid gold for those who enjoy their Euro-trash on the stronger side, but it should be noted that this is a relatively early effort from both film-makers, and despite a steady stream of sex and a touch of violence—a three-way lesbian tryst, genital fondling, oral sex, inappropriate use of a wine bottle, and meat cleaver mutilation—the naughtiness is not all that explicit (by D'amato's standards, at least) and the carnage (achieved with the use of a couple of bottles of ketchup and a few spare mannequin parts) is too fake to be truly disturbing. A rather slow pace adds to the tedium, making this a less than essential film for fans of either Mattei or D'amato.
5.5 out of 10, generously rounded up to 6 for the hilarious blonde chick in the nightclub who takes her top off and jiggles her tits whenever the music gets faster.
Written by Bruno Mattei and directed by Joe D'amato, two of Italian exploitation cinema's most infamous sleaze-merchants, 'Emanuelle e Françoise le sorelline' sounds like solid gold for those who enjoy their Euro-trash on the stronger side, but it should be noted that this is a relatively early effort from both film-makers, and despite a steady stream of sex and a touch of violence—a three-way lesbian tryst, genital fondling, oral sex, inappropriate use of a wine bottle, and meat cleaver mutilation—the naughtiness is not all that explicit (by D'amato's standards, at least) and the carnage (achieved with the use of a couple of bottles of ketchup and a few spare mannequin parts) is too fake to be truly disturbing. A rather slow pace adds to the tedium, making this a less than essential film for fans of either Mattei or D'amato.
5.5 out of 10, generously rounded up to 6 for the hilarious blonde chick in the nightclub who takes her top off and jiggles her tits whenever the music gets faster.